


12 Days of Ficmas 2016: The Perfect Gift

by PoppyAlexander



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Lots of It, Bottom John, Dirty Talk, Like Really A Lot of Dirty Talk, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Top Sherlock, Tumblr Prompt, very dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: Getting fucked makes John feel dirty. He talks about it.





	12 Days of Ficmas 2016: The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starrla89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrla89/gifts).



It was something like a surrender, and it made him feel dirty. Deviant. Sherlock was always happy to accommodate.

So here he was, naked, clean, littered with chill bumps, allowing himself to be persuaded into a pleasing arrangement. Pillows clutched tight under his chest, Sherlock’s cool hands guided him by the creases of his hips, pressed his thighs apart from the inside. He made a needy noise in his throat that descended into a smug-sounding hum.

Licked fingers tickling, circling, and Sherlock used his breath to cool the saliva and make John whimper and twitch.

“Mmmneed you…”

Sherlock had an index of everything he’d ever said, beginning with, “God, yes,” up to the most recently added proclamation, “Coming with you inside me—fuck, Sherlock,  _fuck_!—I could die of it. I could die of it.”

A drizzle of slick, a hand dug in between belly and thigh to hold him still, no squirming away, he appreciates a firm hand because he wants to be  _taken_ , and Sherlock inched inside with knotted fingers, waited while John cursed and groaned.

“Christ oh Christ those gorgeous hands, those fingers, Christ, move,  _fuck’s sake_   _move_ …”

Sherlock obliged, pressing in half-circles, making room, listening to his catching breath, his brittle whining.

Sherlock was by then aching, with a deep need low in his belly to give him what he wanted. Not least because while getting it, he could be relied upon to talk about it. At length. In filthy, uncensored poetry. Sherlock adjusted both pairs of knees, smoothed a slippery skim-coat over his drizzling, upward-curved prick, and took hold, pressing against him but not yet inside.

“Stop teasing and get in me. I need you.  _I need you_.”

He wriggled and rolled, and with a groan Sherlock breached him.

“Yes! Fucking do it. Hard. Fuck me hard. Come on. Come on.”

Dropping one shoulder to the mattress so he could take himself in hand, and Sherlock began a shallow rhythm, quick, careful, the slip and drag making him suck his inhalations and groan on the exhale.

“I love your cock so much. Shove it in me, come on. Give it to me. I love to feel you inside me. I don’t care if it hurts. I just want you to get off. Fucking me. Fucking my tight little hole. Does it feel good? Is it hot? _Nnn_ , so tight, yeah? _Fuck it_.”

His voice so jagged, rough, as if he were angry. Desperate. Growling. Sherlock sank deeper, hard and fast, gasping, grabbing at his shoulder, his hip, pulling. The sounds between them as their bodies smacked together sharp, stinging the air.

“Good. So good. I can feel you sliding inside me, every inch, you’re so hard. I want to hold you inside me. Feel that? Does it make you want to go off?” John’s hand on his cock was frantic, rocking to counter Sherlock’s movements, driving him deeper. He was all heat and soft clutching, negative space that expanded to allow Sherlock’s intrusion, collapsed in his wake. Only science—biology—but it felt like voodoo. Sherlock—grinding, and John—howling.

“Fuck.  _Fuck_. Fuck. Yes. More. Deeper. Fuck me. Take me.  _Sherlock_.”

His name itself sounded like a curse in John’s mouth.

“I’m gonna…nearly there. God, already. You fuck me so good I want to come and come and come. . .Oh, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fuck me through it. Oh, you make me want to come. You make me. Oh, you make me come so good. Fuckfuckfuck fuckfuckFUCK SHERLOCK OHHH…”

Sherlock did as requested, driving on even as John’s counter-rhythm fell apart, stammered, stilled, became desperate and he pushed back hard, drew away to a threatening, thrilling degree until Sherlock reined him back with firm hands gripping deep enough to feel the outlines of his pelvic bones.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck me, oh _fuck me_ , I want you to come inside me, I want to feel it, so hot, so hot, come deep inside me, so hot, yes, yes, _yes, yes_ …”

Sherlock, done for, pulled them as close as could be, shuddered, shouted, and John moaned an echo of his exquisite agony, and they both shivered, and Sherlock collapsed forward against his back. John let his knees fail them and Sherlock relished the way he could cover and keep him, just for those few moments, tight beneath his chest as they both gusted stale air through dry mouths they used to kiss over John’s shoulder. Everything at wrong angles, sweat-stained, salty-smelling and sticky and absolutely perfect.


End file.
